


Twice

by fromthedeskoftheraven



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, F/M, Fluff, Fondling, Implied/Referenced Sex, Kissing, Sherlock References, Teasing, semi-public
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 14:10:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6118849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthedeskoftheraven/pseuds/fromthedeskoftheraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin's wife teases him during an important meeting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twice

“Do we _have_ to go now?”

Your lips pursed in a pout, even as you pressed them to Thorin’s, your hand traveling the length of his arm to interlace your fingers with his. He regarded you with amusement from his pillow as the two of you lay in your luxurious bed, where the suggestion of a brief rest on a busy afternoon had turned to an hour of lazy caresses and slow kisses.

“You know we do,” he answered.

“But you’re the King, they can’t begin without you,” you mumbled, nibbling playfully at his earlobe.

“…Which is why I cannot be late,” he chuckled, gently taking your head in his hands to raise you up to look at him, his thumb stroking your cheek as he added, “and my Queen must be at my side.”

With a seductive smile, you moved to straddle him, gliding your hands beneath his tunic to the warm skin and coarse hair of his chest. “Is there no way I can persuade you to stay a little longer?” you asked mischievously.

Thorin gazed appreciatively at you, a smile playing about his lips, and suddenly he rolled over, the hard weight of his body pressing you into the feather-stuffed mattress. “You are so lovely…so eager,” he murmured between kisses as your restless hands grasped at his muscular back. Just as you’d begun to hope that desire had overcome his better judgment, he stopped, breathless, and rested his forehead against yours. “But we have to go,” he finished, with a teasing smile, escaping your clutches and going to retrieve his overcoat and belt from a nearby chair. 

Laughing in spite of your groan of disappointment, you stood and shook the wrinkles from your skirts, giving him a petulant look as he tugged on his boots. He grinned and came to place his hands on your waist. “I promise I will make it up to you, amrâlimê,” he purred.

“Indeed you will,” you declared, smoothing the front of his coat before stealing one last kiss.

* * *

You were the picture of the dignified Queen, seated at your husband’s right hand in the council chamber for the official greeting of the delegation from Dale. King Bard’s representative had begun to drone on about the terms of trade agreements and the exchange of skilled labor in the restoration of your neighboring kingdoms, and your thoughts soon wandered, only to light on Thorin. The embers of your earlier wantonness still smoldered, and he was so handsome, so regal in his fur-trimmed robe and the dark blue coat that set off his eyes so beautifully. Surreptitiously, you reached to rest your hand on his knee under the table.

He gave you a brief glance and smile in response, which you acknowledged before turning your attention to the ambassador once again. Slowly, your fingers drifted to his inner thigh, moving with a feather-light touch. Thorin shifted in his seat almost imperceptibly, and you felt him relax as you moved your hand back to his knee.

Again, you drew a long, delicate stroke upward along the inseam of his trousers, repeating the movement, each time venturing tantalizingly higher. He inhaled deeply as his traitorous body responded to your touch, and you continued to arrange your features into a mask of polite interest as your fingertips traveled to his lap. A bead of sweat had appeared at his temple when at last his hand closed over yours, firmly moving it to his knee and holding it there until the ambassador had finished speaking.

When the meeting had ended, Thorin ushered the men of Dale and his own councillors from the room, inviting the guests to join him for dinner and directing them to their chambers. Meanwhile, you wandered to the oaken desk in the corner of the council chamber and, placing your hands on its top, hopped up to sit upon its polished surface, swinging your legs carelessly as you awaited your husband’s return. Thorin soon reappeared, closing the door behind him and leaning back against it, looking to you with a wry smile.

“You have had your revenge, my wicked wife.”

You laughed cheekily. “Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it.”

He chuckled. “You are merciless to tease me so.”

“What makes you think I was teasing?” you asked, a naughty gleam in your eye.

He raised an eyebrow as he approached the desk. “Shall I take your advances as an invitation, then?” His hands parted your knees, and he moved to stand between them. “What if I should kiss you?” he mused, nearly whispering, leaning to press his lips to your neck, so temptingly exposed by your upswept hair. The palm of his hand came to cradle your head as he slowly worked his way upward, with a trail of wet kisses, to your jawline, his hot breath on your skin sending an exquisite shiver through your body. 

“…Or touch you?” his deep voice rumbled into your ear as his hand drifted to the fullness of your bodice, your heartbeat drumming a fevered rhythm beneath his fingertips. He reached behind you, his large hand cupping your bottom to slide you toward him, pressing your heated body to his as your breath caught in a gasp, and your hands gripped his biceps. “If I should wish to take you, here, now,” he murmured, brushing his lips against yours, “what say you to that?”

A smirk tugged at your lips, and you looked boldly into his eyes. “I would have you right here on this desk, until you begged for mercy…twice.”

The corner of his mouth curled upward as his gaze flickered over your face. “I’ve never begged for mercy in my life.”

You leaned into him, caressed the tip of his nose with yours, taunted him with the closeness of your lips as you repeated, emphatically, “twice.”

Desire and admiration mingled in his answering grin, and with a single, deliberate sweep of his hand, the neat stacks of parchments beside you on the desk fluttered like autumn leaves to the floor.


End file.
